


Artemis, Aphrodite

by womanning



Series: Les Amis in Dresses [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/womanning/pseuds/womanning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras needs Grantaire's help getting dressed in a womanly fashion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artemis, Aphrodite

“Those who lead revolutions are angels, but they seldom look like them.”

He rests upon the foot of his leader’s bed, the chamber’s light dim with candles freckled along the beside table and the fireplace mantle. Grantaire has one hand entwined with the bedspread to keep himself steady.

(His other hand scratches at his belly, shirt damp with the spill of alcohol, and he wonders vaguely if this is all perhaps an illusion in result of the green fairy’s tricks.)   

His leader, Enjolras, just an inch under from being considered tall in height, limbs slender, but shoulders broad, stands before him. His dress is bunched around his waist, leaving a trail of skirts to pool around his bare feet. Grantaire can just make out a hint of toes peeking in between the curves of pale pink cloth.

“There are exceptions that do make history,” Grantaire says, watching long, white fingers gather a cascade of yellow curls into a ribbon. “We could examine the paintings of Jeanne d’Arc. Does she not bear your face?”

“Grantaire, you talk as if you are nothing less than a madman,” Enjolras says in a voice that travels between a high flexibility and a terrible deepness.

“Would you lead an army with those skirts wrapped around you so sweetly?”

“Of course, I would not. A frivolous question.”

Grantaire admits with a loose grin, “Do the skirts make any more a prominent impact than your woman’s face?”

It is to be acknowledged that Enjolras does not look to the other man, nor does he respond to his question. With concentrated eyes, an emotionless mouth, he takes a corset, striped, off-white, from his wardrobe and—now—his eyes move to Grantaire.

“Will you serve to lace my corset for me?” Enjolras asks, calmly. “Without brazen commentary,” he adds.

“I would wish to do nothing else at this moment,” Grantaire says, hauling his heavy body into a stand. He settles next to the blond, and ushers Enjolras, fingers to shoulder, to turn around. He takes the corset from Enjolras’ and with hands more nervous than his presence lets on; he wraps the corset around Enjolras’ torso.

His leader’s waist already approaches the small side on a male scale. Grantaire is not versed in the dynamics of women’s fashion, however, he concentrates with his large—so used to being skilled artist fingers, now bordering useless—fingers on the tying of the corset’s laces, guiding, the cords through each eyelet.

It takes minutes for the threading to be finished and it is done in a complete silence. (Not complete: Grantaire’s breathing is heavy, drowsy with drunkenness and increasing lust.)

“May I?” he asks, cords gathered in his hands, indicating the action of pulling.

“You may,” Enjolras answers. “Tightly, please.”

Grantaire begins to pull, the cords moving in to squeeze around Enjolras’ waist. Moments later, a faint grunt sounds from Enjolras and Grantaire is afraid to go further.

“Is it good?” Grantaire asks, dubiously.

“Tighter.” A voice of authority.

And so Grantaire gathers the strength to grip and pull with more force, wariness still present in the back of his mind, coupled with the realization of how truly trickster in nature women’s fashion is. Enjolras grips the side of his wardrobe as the corset encircles in on his stomach. Grantaire wonders if his organs with implode as the corset tightens in the tune of his arm muscles.

Enjolras announces, “That is enough” and Grantaire ties him up, a feeling of relief that the strain is over. He reaches to brush his brow, discovering a coating of sweat. Back remaining to Grantaire’s view, Enjolras asks for his service to proceed with lacing up his gown.

“Yes,” Grantaire says, hands quick to Enjolras’ sides now. The tips of his fingers drag along Enjolras’ hidden ribs, taking in the decrease of his waists width with a sharp inhale. “Yes.”

“Grantaire.”

“The womanly masquerade of it all amplifies your beauty, fair monsieur,” Grantaire says followed by a quiet unbelievable “ha!”

“Do you dream for the position of king’s jester?”

Grantaire begins to tie the ribbons of Enjolras’ dress, but continues speaking with sentences driven out from drunken confidence. “Blow out the candles, blow out the stars, and in the dark a man could throw you upon his bed, take you, and yet without discovery of you as Adam.”

“I resent your words, Grantaire. I am not one of your nightly ladies.”

When Grantaire is finished, he urges Enjolras to spin around to face him and when he does Grantaire’s expression is unrevealing. Yet: “You speak as if you are virtuous Artemis, but you appear as wanton and striking as Aphrodite. Tell me, when will your feet birth sea foam?” 

“I will gather up with skirts and leave you here if you continue to speak in this lewd manner,” Enjolras says with pursed lips, full and rosy even when pressed into a line.

“I shall quit.”

“I am thankful.”

“But I must ask,” Grantaire says, daring to tuck a soft curl behind Enjolras’ ear, fingers lingering near Enjolras’ cheek. “Fair Ophelia, when you are done and satisfied will your time dressed like the late Marie Antoinette, when you have plucked enough flowers from Prouvaire’s garden to braid in your long hair, will you let me shed your clothes off as you have let me fasten them on?”

Enjolras’ face is as marble as ever as he searches Grantaire’s face for more of that jesting nature. When he can find none, but instead a fearful hope, a mask of bold assurance, he says, “We shall see.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Based on yosb's Enjolras-in-a-dress-and-Grantaire-sexually-frustrated series. See the links here: http://badyafiction.tumblr.com/post/45612505846/artemis-aphrodite-les-miserables (And she's made more since then, so check them out!)


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